


I Know You Miss The World (The One You Knew)

by packrat



Series: ke one parters [9]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: 2nd person POV, F/F, its eve observing villanelle, just very sweet and soft, my 2 cents on the bridge scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24901216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/packrat/pseuds/packrat
Summary: As you’re standing there, praying for her to turn around, you think that she’s not quite the person you expected her to be because she turned out to be so much more.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: ke one parters [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712638
Comments: 2
Kudos: 59





	I Know You Miss The World (The One You Knew)

When you first met her, you did not know it was _her_. At that time, you knew nothing about her. Still pictured her as the cold and ruthless, calculating woman with a flat chest. She had no face and no name. For you, all she was at the time, was a wall of pictures connected by red string. 

You never thought she’d be at a loss for words as you ask her if she’s alright, staring at you as if committing you to memory. 

Now, you think that maybe she also didn’t expect you to be _you_. You don’t know what images she had in mind but certainly not someone as mundane as you. 

You knew it had been her the moment you returned to the hospital room and she had murdered four people, including your witness, though. 

The person walking to the opposite side of the bridge right now is not exactly her either. It is her, by all means, but this woman is a softer version, more delicate. You find yourself thinking that you want to protect her from everything and everyone. 

You had known it in the ballroom already, that something must have happened to her, that something is wrong, because it just wasn’t quite her then either. You also sensed that she didn’t want to talk about it, knew that was the case, because you are the same. And you don’t like to talk about personal matters either. 

So you asked her to dance. 

Her back is still turned to you and in your mind you pray for her to turn around, turn around, turn around and choose you like you had chosen her. 

Turn around. Turn around. Turn around. 

Like Orpheus turned to look for Eurydice. But instead of condemning Eve to a life in the Underworld they were condemning themselves to a life with each other. 

From the moment she told you to wear your hair down you’d known that it would end like this. 

With only her and you. 

The only two people left on this world. 

Her steps slow and she comes to a halt. As if she can hear you. And then she turns around and you see so many emotions flicker across her face, even from a distance. 

Maybe, you think, she just wanted to get one last look at you before she would leave your life forever. It is what you asked for after all. Asked her to make it stop, just make it all stop while you couldn’t avert your eyes. 

She is the sun. 

Always has been the sun. 

Always will be. 

And you are less than a planet in the solar system, destined to circle around her for eternity. If anything you are a sunflower, face always directed towards the light. Looking for solace, for warmth, for comfort. She is what made you grow into yourself. And now will be both of your time together before you rot and fall apart.  
Except that with her you don’t think that it will ever get that far. With her, time doesn’t follow logic. 

With her, nothing does.

Still, minutes upon minutes later, both of you are standing at maybe twenty steps apart, unmoving, rooted to the spot. She is searching your face for, for what you don’t know but it’s something, something she is searching for in your face. But you don’t know what exactly so you raise one eyebrow, questioning, and suddenly her feet are moving, towards you, apprehensively. You think she might be unsure if she’s allowed to.

A deer in headlights.

No.

A childhood pet whose trust you might have lost after kicking it by accident.

You count every step she takes. _One. Two. Three._ And you don’t move. And you should move, should show her that, _Fourteen._ yes, you are choosing her, you promise, but your feet don’t cooperate. So you have no choice but to wait. _Nineteen. Twenty._ She reaches you, stands maybe a feet away from you now. You exhale a breath you didn’t know you held.

You stare into each others eyes again, she, still searching. For what you still don’t know.

After several moments, she starts speaking, stops and restarts and stops. You don’t know if it is for a loss of words or for fear that she could say the wrong thing. You are still, waiting.

Her mouth opens. 

Closes. 

A fish out of water. 

You taste her perfume on your tongue.

You take her hand and her gaze drops to your interlocked fingers. She is shaking slightly, her palm warm and heavy, holding onto you tightly. You rub your thumb in circles on the back of her hand. Hopes it soothes her. 

She doesn’t look at you so you take your other hand and with your index and middle finger you push her head up ever so slightly. 

Her eyes meet yours again. Green and brown and nature through and through. This time it is you searching. Searching for what she was trying to say. 

She is not really with you, is all you discover. She is lost in her mind, running deeper and deeper into the forest of her own thoughts. 

You wait patiently at first. Tell yourself to give her time if that’s what she needs. 

Sometimes, sometimes you forget how human she is. You realize it now as much as you do when you’re alone in bed, deep at night when everything is asleep, quiet and unmoving. 

You just forget that she is not just a Greek goddess. That she is not just Aphrodite, embodiment of beauty and perfection. Not just Athena, always hunting, hunting, hunting (killing).

Or the Fates. 

Though she does have your string of life in her hands. From the beginning (that hospital bathroom) to end (who knows how it will end) and everything in between (Paris and London and Rome and London again).

But you forget. It slips your mind, that she is also just so utterly human. That her blood is also just blood. That her pain is also just pain. And you find that you’re oddly okay with it. If anything, it makes you feel at peace. You know how loves between Gods and mortals usually end.

And you are determined to not let your story end in tragedy. 

As she’s standing there, lost in thought, you drink all of her in like ambrosia. Your mind starts wandering, too, then. Wondering if her skin tastes as sweet as nectar, if her lips are still as soft as a few weeks ago. If kissing her will end with the echo of skull on skull again. If she would let you kiss her or if she wants to be the one kissing you. If she _wants_ to kiss you again. 

Kissing her kissing you kissing her. And kissing and kissing and kissing and touching.

And then droplets of rain hit your skin. They are sparse, just every now and again, but heavy as they fall and hit the ground. A harbinger of just another rainy London night. 

She doesn’t seem to realize the change in the weather, stuck deeply in her mind. You see it in her face. Her inner conflict. So you say her name. Whisper it. Quietly, a secret shared only between the two of you amidst a see of strangers. They are ships passing in the night but you, you found each other and you won’t let go. Won’t let go again after almost losing her for good. You tell her it’s starting to rain once you know she is back with you in the present. 

Say her name again. 

Ask her what’s on her mind. 

She wants to know only one thing: if you’re sure you want to keep her face in your life. If you’re okay with her face staying in your future. 

You can’t help but chuckle because it is a very beautiful face. 

You tell her as much.


End file.
